The Prince and the Grandson
by Pickwick12
Summary: What happens when Henry gains a father figure for the first time? Side-by-side with the current season of the show, all about Henry and Charming's life together. May get more intense depending on the show's plotlines. Enjoy!
1. Eggs

Henry turned on the stove and broke an egg into the skillet. Regina's kitchen had always been stocked with skillets of every possible size, but his grandfather's kitchen only had one. He liked it better that way; it was easier to pick which one to use. After a few minutes, he pulled the half-melted spatula out of a drawer and flipped his egg over. He liked eggs. They were simple and delicious. He was almost ready to dump his golden, over-easy creation onto a plate when he heard a key turn in the door of the apartment.

Henry stopped moving and let a grin spread across his face as his grandfather's tall frame filled the doorway. "Hey, kid, what are you cooking?"

"Eggs. You want some?" Henry was hoping for a yes. He was always hoping for a yes.

"Sure," and his grandfather grinned a grin that exactly matched his own. They didn't really look alike in any other way, but they had their smiles in common. "You know, you don't have to cook. We can always go to the Diner."

"I know," said Henry, breaking two eggs and turning the heat just right to scramble them, since that was what his grandfather liked best.

If he'd left it up to the older man, they would have eaten every meal at Granny's Diner. That was a far cry from the queen's house, where every meal had been handcrafted to angry perfection. She hadn't even wanted him to set foot in Granny's. It was nice to be able to go there whenever he wanted now, but he preferred cooking at home. It was the one thing he could do that his grandfather couldn't, the one way he could show how grateful he was.

They ate together in silence, the little boy and the grandfather who was barely old enough to be his dad. Henry knew that, but he didn't care. When you're a kid, everybody's older than you, and a few years here and there don't really matter.

"Did you do your homework?"

"Yeah, Grandpa," he said, looking down at his plate. He hadn't done it. It was math homework, which he hated.

"You sure about that?" At times like this, Henry remembered that his grandfather was really Prince Charming, hero and leader of Storybrooke, instead of a doddering grandparent who would have taken anything he said as gospel truth.

"I started it," Henry revised truthfully, "but I don't really get it."

"Maybe I can help."


	2. Math

The man who was both David Nolan and Prince James—he wasn't always sure which—took a seat on the sofa to wait for his grandson to bring out his well-worn math notebook. Thanking about school just made him miss Mary Margaret more. He had a hunch that Henry wouldn't have been struggling if she'd been there to explain things. He didn't let himself dwell there long. The thought of Mary Margaret's face made him think of the girl he'd only just found out was his daughter, and the collective pain of missing both of them was too much to let himself feel when he had Henry to look after.

The little boy dutifully took his seat next to his grandfather. "Sorry I lied about my homework," he said, hanging his head and saying it fast so the words ran together.

"That's ok," said David, putting an arm around him. He would never say it to his grandson, but he was glad Henry had started to show that he wasn't perfect once in a while. David didn't know very much about life with Regina, but he had a feeling good behavior had been an issue of fear rather than cooperation. He remembered his own childhood well enough to know that no kid was as perfect as Henry had seemed at first, and he was relieved to see a more normal side, a side that showed that the kid was getting more comfortable. If that meant challenging the boundaries a little bit, Prince Charming could handle it.

What neither Prince Charming nor David Nolan could handle was pre-Algebra. After two hours of wrangling, the older man was in fully sympathy with his grandson's effort to avoid his assignment. "I wish Mary Margaret was here!" burst out of Henry's mouth after an effort at a problem that seemed like Greek to both of them. As soon as he'd said it, David could feel him tense up next to him. "I'm—sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean—"

"It's ok, kid," said David, "I wish she was here, too." Henry relaxed against him, and David realized the little boy was exhausted. "Go get ready for bed, and we'll get Red to help you tomorrow."

"Red?" Henry stared at him blankly.

"Sure," said David, "when it comes to math, Red is your girl."

"Ok," said Henry dubiously, getting up to change into his pajamas.

David liked this time the best, when Henry would emerge in his pajamas, looking no more than his real age. During the day, he had a tendency to seem like a little adult, with all the wisdom and weight of the world on his shoulders, but at night he turned back into a little boy. At those times, it almost seemed like David was getting some of the moments back that he'd missed with Emma when she was a little girl, and he poured all of his love for his daughter and his wife into his grandson.


	3. Nighttime

Henry's favorite time was the same as his grandfather's. When he'd lived with Regina, night had always been particularly terrifying. If he'd had bad dreams or couldn't sleep, Regina had always been furious at having her sleep disturbed, so he'd learned to keep it all to himself and never make any noise. In time, he'd acquired a permanent, anxious ache in his stomach that came whenever he was getting ready for bed and didn't leave until he got up in the morning.

Things were different now. Gradually, over the time he'd been with his grandfather, he'd felt the ache lessen until it had almost disappeared. For starters, he had hardly any bad dreams any more. He would go to sleep every night thinking about the sword beside his grandfather's bed and the fact that nothing could get to him even if it tried.

If he did have bad dreams, he didn't have to hide them. His grandfather always came to check on him, and somehow he always knew if Henry was really asleep or if he was just faking it. The first time this had happened, Henry had been terrified, but instead of screaming at him, David had simply sat down on the edge of his bed and read to him until he was sleepy, then rubbed his back until he couldn't keep his eyes open any more. That's how it always went, until the time he'd had a bad dream and finally gotten brave enough to come out and tell his grandfather himself. He didn't know why that had earned him a huge hug, but he liked it. Nowadays, he almost always slept through the night.

This particular night, he tried to brush away thoughts of Algebra as he brushed his teeth, instead thinking about his mother and his grandmother. He knew from the stories in his book that his grandmother, the fierce and beautiful Snow White, was wonderfully brave, and he had seen his mother's courage with his own eyes. Wherever they were, they would fight, and they wouldn't give up. But he missed them just the same.

Henry's final step was washing his face with Old Spice wash. He used it because he wanted to smell just like his grandfather. He would have also liked to shave, but he wasn't old enough. He closed the bathroom cabinet with its peeling paint and went back into the living room.

"Which will it be tonight?" asked David, with Henry's book in hand. The little boy took his place next to his grandfather and leaned against him contentedly.

"Pinocchio," he said. Truthfully, he would have liked to hear the story of Snow White. He almost had it memorized, but hearing the words reassured him that his grandmother was strong and brave and alive. He never asked for that story, though, because he knew that it hurt his grandfather to read it and remember the times they'd been together.


	4. Hero

David knew that "Snow White" was his grandson's favorite story, and it made perfect sense. It was the one about his grandmother and his grandfather and his mother—and him, by extension. He'd seen the little boy reading it countless times, devouring it like it was something to eat. That's why he was thankful that Henry never asked him to read it. He couldn't even bear to turn to the pages that contained it.

This night, he made sure to do an especially good job with the voices—mimicking Geppetto and Jiminy Cricket and even the Blue Fairy until his grandson shrieked with laughter. He then took the opportunity to attack—tickling the little boy and playfully wrestling with him until their collective laughter threatened to wake up everyone in the building.

He had learned that this was the best way to expend Henry's energy and get him ready for sleep, and as he finished the story, he could feel that the child was beginning to get drowsy. After saying "The End" in his usual dramatic way, he finished the night the way he always did.

"Henry," he said, "I love you." And he hugged his grandson as tightly as he could. It was simple, but it always worked.

David didn't stay up long. He checked the lock on the door and placed his sword by his bed, then waited a few minutes and checked on Henry to make sure he was asleep. This night, he was, and he looked totally peaceful as he breathed in and out with rhythmic precision.

David wished he could sleep as well as Henry. When he went to bed, thoughts of his wife invariably filled his mind, and he no longer fought them. He missed her so much he didn't know how his heart could keep from breaking in half. He was afraid, too. He knew Regina's power and her insatiable desire to possess the child sleeping in the next room. He would protect his grandson, but he had no grandfather to protect him. Still, there was something comforting about being trusted. The people in town looked to him as their leader, but Henry was the only one who looked at him with that special mixture of love and absolute trust in his eyes. It was a look that made David feel like Prince Charming, the man who really could fix everything.


	5. Reckoning

"Henry, we need to talk." It was evening, and Henry had just downed an entire bowl of macaroni and cheese. He smiled brightly, but the truth was that he had been waiting for something like this.

"Is this about earlier?" The little boy met his grandfather's bright blue eyes, but he saw no anger or disappointment in them in spite of his disobedience.

When he'd lived with Regina, Henry had gotten used to sneaking out and lying and doing whatever it took to make Operation Cobra work. He'd felt guilty sometimes, but it was easy to convince himself that the wicked queen didn't deserve his respect, even if she was his adoptive mother.

Things were different now, but old habits died hard. That morning, it had been so easy to run away when he didn't like what his grandfather had told him to do. But Prince Charming was no Regina. The queen had often been too busy to worry about her naughty son's whereabouts. His grandfather, he'd begun to realize, wasn't going to let go so easily.

"Listen, Henry, even in the Enchanted Forest, we had leaders and followers, knights and generals to lead them. The point is, when you're trying to accomplish something, somebody has to be in charge, and her soldiers have to obey her. Your grandmother led the dwarfs, remember? The thing is, I'm a lot older than you, and I have a lot more experience. I'm also trying to protect you."

"I get it," said Henry, staring at the remnants of his pasta.

"If we're going to do this together, you're going to have to trust me enough to do what I tell you every time. Deal?"

"Deal," said Henry. When he thought about sword fighting that afternoon or the relief of being rescued from Regina's snake, it seemed like a very small price to pay. Plus, there was something about having a grandfather around to tell him what to do that he liked—a whole lot.


	6. Goldilocks

David watched his grandson write out his history homework. The little boy's brow was furrowed in concentration. He looked just like Snow when he did that, and David promised himself that he would tell Henry some time, some time when he could say it without choking up.

When he'd first promised to take care of Henry, it had been the most natural thing in the world, and he didn't regret it. He was beginning to see, though, the pitfalls of being a grandfather before being a dad. He'd had no opportunity to watch Emma grow up, to learn when to be strict and when to be easygoing. When he'd been David Nolan only, he'd known Henry as a nice kid, albeit one he was inexplicably drawn to. That was a world away from being responsible for taking care of him and even disciplining him if the situation demanded it.

Had he been too hard on the kid? After all, in many ways, they were still getting to know each other. Or had he been too easy? Should he have grounded him for the morning's disobedience? Maybe he'd been just right. David almost laughed out loud when he realized that his thoughts sounded like the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears.

That was the key, really. In the story, Goldilocks always found one thing that was just the right size—one bed, one chair, and one bowl of porridge. As a grandfather, he had begun to realize that Henry would do the same thing. If he watched, his grandson would show him what worked and what didn't. It was just a matter of watching closely enough.

Once again, Charming missed his wife. She would have known how to raise Henry, when to be tough and when to let go. But she wasn't here, and he was determined to make her proud. He might not be perfect, but he would do his dead level best to help Henry become a good man—for Snow, and for Emma.


	7. Learning

Sword fighting was harder than Henry had expected. What had always seemed like random clicks and thrusts was actually, he learned, an elaborate dance of practiced moves. It was like soccer or baseball, but with a lot more to remember.

His grandpa was a good teacher. Every day after school, Henry learned a new move, and then David helped him put it into practice along with the ones he had learned on previous days. That way, he kept learning, but he didn't go backward. Doing things had always been the best way for him to learn them.

On Saturday of the first week, they spent the whole morning fighting, and by lunch time, Henry was exhausted. "Better be glad we're not doing this in armor," panted his grandfather as they both collapsed onto the grass in front of their building.

"Grandpa?" Henry asked, using David's stomach as a pillow.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Why are you so good at teaching me this?"

David smiled down at him and put a hand through his hair. "It hasn't been all that long since I learned it myself, you know."

"Oh," said Henry, thinking back to the story in the well-worn pages of his book. He'd been thinking of his grandfather as a prince for so long that he'd almost forgotten about the other part of the story, the part when he'd been a humble farm boy.

Henry turned over and looked David in the eye. "Do you ever wish you hadn't become a prince?"

The older man smiled his widest smile. "I used to, right at first, but if I hadn't become the prince, I never would have met Snow, and you and your mom would never have been born. Turns out, the thing I didn't want is the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Like now," said Henry, lying beside him and staring up into the blue sky.

"What do you mean?" asked David curiously.

Henry didn't look at him. "I mean, if Emma—my mom—and Snow hadn't been taken away, I wouldn't have gotten to live with you like this. I didn't want them to go, but this is the coolest thing that's ever happened to me."


	8. Responsibility

David stared hard at the clouds because he was afraid that if he looked over at Henry, his grandson would see the tears in his eyes.

Finally, Henry broke the silence again. "Grandpa, when do I get a real sword?"

David was about to return a joking answer, but he stopped and thought about it for a long moment instead. "Henry," he finally answered, "carrying a sword is about a lot more than being able to fight well."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's also about responsibility. It's about having the self-control to know when to fight and when to back down. You'll be ready for a real sword when you're responsible." Henry didn't answer, which was unusual for him, so David looked over and found a stormy look in his grandson's usually clear eyes. "Care to share your opinion?" he asked mildly.

"It's just—" Henry exploded, "It's just that I'm the one who was responsible when none of you would believe me. None of you guys wanted to be who you are. You didn't want to be a leader. My mom wasn't ready to break the curse. I was the only one. It's not fair to say I'm not responsible." The prince watched his grandson make this entire speech, and when the child had finished, he looked scared, as if he was frightened of what his grandfather's response would be.

"You're right," David answered. "You carried a lot of responsibility for us, more than a kid your age should ever have had to handle. If you hadn't brought Emma here, the curse might never have been broken. We owe you a lot." He could hear Henry's breathing relax.

"You're still a kid, though," he continued. "Responsibility is something we learn all our lives in different ways, and carrying a weapon is a special kind. I'll make a promise to you, though." Henry perked up at this.

"I'll watch carefully, and I won't make you wait a moment past when you're ready."

"Ok," said Henry, smiling in spite of himself.

"And kid?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't ever have to be afraid to tell me what you're thinking. Got it?"

"Got it."


	9. Protected

"Henry, what were you thinking?"

Those words sounded familiar. They were the same ones Grandpa had used in Regina's magical lair, but that time, the older man had mainly seemed worried for his safety. This time, there was sternness behind his voice that Henry hadn't heard before.

Henry squirmed on the bench outside the principal's office, trying to avoid the drilling gaze of the man kneeling in front of him. "I got mad," he said, shrugging. He knew that wasn't going to cut it, but he was trying to stall for time.

His grandfather folded his arms in front of his chest. "You know fighting is off limits. Why didn't you tell a teacher if you had a problem?"

Henry fingered the lock of hair that partially covered his black eye. "They don't do anything. They just talk to people and give detentions."

"Right," said David, "so you thought you'd take the law into your own hands?"

"He—said I don't have a dad because my mom is a -," said Henry, whispering the last word because he hated to say it so much.

"Does that make her one?" asked his grandfather.

"Huh?"

"I said, does it make her one of those just because a kid said it?"

"No—o," said Henry slowly.

"That's right," said David, "and it doesn't make it right for you to hit somebody, either. Words are just words."

Henry stared at his hands in his lap. "But I have to take care of my mom."

"Kid, do you think Emma cares what anybody says about her?"

"I dunno," said Henry.

"You're smart. Think about it. Emma has a lot more important things to worry about. Besides, you don't have to take care of anybody." David's hand under his chin forced the boy to meet his eyes. "Henry, I know you're used to being on your own a lot, but it's time to start letting somebody else take care of you. Now, I can teach you how to do a lot of things, but for that to work, you need to trust me. If you have a problem, you don't deal with it on your own, you come to me, and we'll work it out together."

Henry had never thought of it that way. Regina's affection and attention had always been doled out on her timetable, never because he needed her. Emma, too, had been too preoccupied to really mother him. He'd never known what it was like to have someone protect him when he needed protecting, and it was hard to believe he had someone now.

"Well?" said David. "What do you say?"

Henry put his arms around his grandfather's neck. He didn't care if he had to serve detention every day for two weeks. His life, he thought, was too good to be true.


	10. Flawed

_Snow, raising kids isn't easy_ David thought. He'd taken to picturing his wife's face in his mind at night and directing his thoughts toward her. It wasn't like talking to her, but it was better than nothing.

Henry hadn't come with an instruction manual, and childrearing wasn't something princes were taught how to do. Not like his life as David Nolan was much help, either. Sometimes, when he looked at his grandson, he could see the deep pain of a child who had spent his whole life being abandoned over and over in new ways, and he didn't know what to do.

He couldn't wave a wand and fix everything, and even Rumplestiltskin's magic wasn't nearly enough to make a child feel safe. That took hour upon hour of consistency and love and understanding. It almost seemed, at times, like Henry needed an infinite supply of those things, and his grandfather felt like he was just a flawed man trying to do a hero's job.

As David was about to fall asleep, he heard a tap on his door. "Come in," he called, and Henry cracked the door and peeked around tentatively.

"Grandpa, I wrote a letter to Thomas to say sorry for hitting him."

"That's great," said David, sitting up. "What gave you that idea?"

"You did," said his grandson, rubbing his tired eyes. "A while ago, you said we should always admit it when we make a mistake, so I figured this would be a good way."

"Get some sleep, Henry," said David, but he was smiling. "We'll send it tomorrow."

Henry put the letter down on his grandfather's dresser, but as he turned to leave the room, David couldn't resist reaching out a long arm and grabbing him in a wrestling hold that felt like a hug to both of them. "Good night, kid," he said, messing up his grandson's brown hair.

"Good night, Grandpa," said Henry, grinning.

The last thing David saw before he fell asleep wasn't Snow White's face. It was a little folded piece of paper on top of his dresser.

Somehow, just when David felt the most flawed, his grandson always had a way of making him feel like a hero.

* * *

**To lexip95, who asked for it.**


	11. Knights

Knights weren't supposed to be afraid in the night. They weren't supposed to sleep and dream of things like windowless red rooms and fires that wouldn't stop burning. They were supposed to be stronger than that, bigger. Henry was mad at himself, but the images wouldn't go away.

Knights weren't supposed to need candles to chase away the monsters or a grandfather to sit on the edges of their beds and hold them with his big hands until their fear got smaller and smaller and finally disappeared. It wasn't supposed to be like that, but Henry couldn't help it.

Knights weren't supposed to wake up ashamed of the night before, not wanting to look other people in the eyes while they ate breakfast because they were embarrassed that it had all happened again. They were supposed to be confident and proud, but Henry wasn't either one of those things.

Knights weren't supposed to be so short their grandfather had to kneel down to look them in the eyes when he said goodbye for school. They were supposed to be tall and broad-shouldered, but Henry wasn't that.

Knights weren't supposed to feel so much better when strong arms wrapped them up tight and held them close. They were supposed to be self-sufficient in front of everybody else, but Henry couldn't be that.

_Have a great day, Sir Henry_, said the deep voice behind him. In that moment, he was a knight, and nothing else mattered.


	12. Strength

David cradled his grandson's face in his hand, willing his touch to banish the fear that filled the little boy's eyes. Unbidden, his mind flitted to the face of King George, his adoptive father, who would have called it "woman's work" and tried to shame him for it.

His life as a prince had been filled with ceremony and training. "Tournament," the king had always said. "Prove yourself there, and the world will know your strength." He had proven himself, finding that the strength he'd built as a young man of no standing had stood him in equally good stead as a prince.

In spite of grueling days of exercises with swords and horses, that life had been easier. None of the quests or the tournaments or duels could have compared to a night sitting up in a little boy's room trying to figure out how to quiet his fears or mornings of trying to understand what was behind those big, quiet eyes.

That life had also meant nothing. Other than Snow, he had gained nothing from it and given nothing of himself to the emptiness. Winning a joust or besting an enemy might be easier than comforting a crying child, but they were also empty of the surge of joy he felt when his grandson smiled at him or the rush of emotion that almost knocked him over when Henry said "I love you." When he held the little boy, he felt stronger than he ever had at the front of an army.

The king only knew one kind of strength, but David knew that real power, the kind that made a good man, was about love as much as it was about force. Strength was being able to control himself when he felt like raising his voice in the occasional moments that Henry misbehaved, and real power was being able to change Henry's attitude with one gentle word. King George would never know power like that, with his loud voice and his anger.

David made his thoughts return to the present, noticing that Henry's eyes were finally beginning to fill with sleep once again. "Come here," he said softly, pulling his grandson close and cradling him to his chest. He didn't know how long the little boy would be willing to be held, how long before he would try to grow up and throw off his grandfather's embrace. Until then, he would hoard the moments while he could, treasuring them like slipping grains of sand in an hourglass.

Nothing in the world had ever made him feel stronger than the feeling of his grandson's head resting just over his heart.


	13. Silence

Grandpa still wasn't talking. It wasn't like he ever talked _that _much. Henry was used to it, and he liked it. Regina had tended to talk too much when she was anxious, and her tenseness had scared him because he had never known what she was going to do. Life with his grandfather was peaceful, and he liked only talking sometimes, when the prince really had something important to say. The rest of the time, they trained together or watched TV, or he followed his grandpa around while he did his job in town.

This was different. He'd barely even gotten a "good morning." At first, he'd racked his brain to try to figure out if he'd done something wrong, but that wasn't how things worked with Prince Charming. Regina had frozen him out sometimes, given him the silent treatment until he finally came crying and apologizing to her because he couldn't stand the isolation. She'd always had to have that power over him; it had always been about her. His grandfather was different. The moment Henry did something wrong, he knew what to expect, a hand on his shoulder, a quiet "Henry," said in a certain tone, and then the prince kneeling in front of him with those loving, disappointed eyes until he caved. It always worked because he always knew it was out of concern for him, not because of his grandfather's ego. This wasn't like that.

It was almost like his grandpa was afraid to talk to him, something he'd never seen before. If anyone had asked, he would have said the prince wasn't afraid of anything. He'd read the stories of all of his grandfather's brave deeds and seen some of them with his own eyes in Storybrooke. He hadn't thought there was anything in the world that could make him afraid.

"Grandpa?" he finally said tentatively, when they were sitting down to a dinner of hotdogs and crinkle French fries.

"Yeah?" The prince looked up as if he was startled.

"Are you mad at me?" To the little boy's surprise, his grandfather put his face in his hands for a few seconds. "I'm sorry," Henry said, a little afraid. It was the first time Prince Charming had ever been unpredictable, and he didn't know what to do.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter and the next are for Shopowner93, who requested them.**


	14. Unexpected

"Henry," said David, looking up after a few seconds, "you didn't do anything wrong. I did."

"What?" Henry stared at him, uncomprehending, and David hated the look of confused fear in his grandson's eyes.

"We never talked about that day in the stables," the prince continued, feeling more like a grandfather than he ever had before and hating the sickening feeling of failure in his stomach. "You were scared—and hurt—and it was my fault. I shouldn't have left you alone there. I've been wanting to talk to you about it for a while, but to be honest, Henry, I didn't know what to say. I don't know how you can still trust me. I let you down."

Henry smiled. That was strange, David thought, not at all what he'd expected. He also didn't expect his grandson to come over to his side of the table and stand in front of him with his arms folded, but that was what happened.

"Grandpa," said Henry, and David realized his grandson was mimicking the tone he used whenever the kid was a little bit in trouble, "that wasn't your fault, so stop acting like I'm upset when I'm not. You're doing a good job of taking care of me. Got it?"

For a split second, David wondered who was adult and who was child. "Got it," he said, smiling at the pint-sized psychologist in front of him.

Of course, there were still some advantages to being the grandpa, as he reminded Henry by tackling him and wrestling him into a tight embrace. The kid didn't seem to mind.


	15. Charm

"Grandpa, what does it mean to be charming?" Henry was bobbing up and down on his toes while he watched his grandfather shave, a process he found endlessly fascinating and planned to start doing himself the moment he was old enough.

"Huh?" said the prince, looking less-than-regal with his face covered in shaving cream and his mouth contorted in a humorous position while he navigated the razor across his upper lip.

"You know," said Henry, "like the name Grandma gave you. What does it mean?"

His grandfather wiped his now-smooth skin with a washcloth and looked down at him. "Why don't you tell me what you think it means, and we'll go from there?"

"Ok," said Henry, smiling. He liked a challenge. He thought all the way to Granny's Diner, where the two were headed for Saturday breakfast. Once he had a huge plate of pancakes in front of him, he was ready.

"Let's see," he said. "You're tall, so it must mean being tall. And you're strong, so it must mean that, too. Maybe it means you're good at killing monsters? And fighting with a sword? And—(Henry blushed slightly)—really, really handsome."

"Ah," said his grandfather with mock seriousness. "That's quite a list. But what about you, Henry? You haven't killed any monsters yet, and you're not that tall." Henry couldn't help laughing as a big hand reached around the booth and poked him lightly in the stomach.

"I'm not charming," he said, shaking his head emphatically.

"Oh," said his grandpa, leaning his head close to Henry's, "you're wrong about that. Before they were sent away, I heard Emma and Mary Margaret talking about how you're the most charming kid in the whole world." This time, Henry blushed for real, and he stared down at his placemat.


	16. Beholding

David wiped his face with his napkin and sat back, trying to figure out how to word what he wanted to say. He had a feeling this was one of those life lesson times, and he didn't want to blow it.

"Henry, when we first met, your grandmother called me Charming as a joke, because she didn't like me. She only started to call me that for real after we knew each other a lot better."

"I know," said his grandson, smiling. "It's in the story."

"Sure it is," said the prince, pausing for emphasis, "but do you really know what it means? When Snow met me, she could see that I was tall. She might have even known I'd killed a few monsters. That's not what made her think I was charming."

"That's—true," Henry agreed, his brow furrowed.

"What do you think did it?" asked David.

The little boy looked up after a while. "I don't know, Grandpa."

The prince smiled, and he didn't realize it, but for a split second he looked as old as he really was. "It was love, Henry. Grandma found me charming because she loved me. There are a lot of things we can do and be, like learning all we can to reach our potential and being kind and generous, but charm—well, that's another thing."

"What kind of thing?" Henry asked, obviously intrigued.

"Charm is in the eye of the beholder," said the prince, aware that his phrasing was old-fashioned, but meaning every word. "Grandma thinks I'm charming because when she looks at me, she sees someone she loves. That's why Emma thinks you're charming. It's not about your or me being perfect; it's because they love us the way we are."

"Oh," said Henry, staring at him in amazement. "You mean—somebody like Snow might think that about me some day, even if I'm just plain Henry?"

"Yep," said David, putting out a hand and brushing a stray hair from the little boy's forehead, "that's exactly what I mean."

"Cool," said Henry.

His grandfather thought so too.


	17. Pride

Henry awoke, and he opened his eyes to find his grandfather by his bed, looking concerned. This time, he didn't feel afraid. He felt strong and unashamed.

"You ok?" asked the prince, touching his forehead gently.

Henry smiled. "It worked! I knew what to do!"

His grandfather's eyebrows went up. "Really?"

Henry nodded. "I don't have to be scared any more."

"Why don't you tell me what happened?" asked Charming, putting out an arm and leading Henry into the kitchen.

Between sips of milk, Henry explained his nightmare. He felt even better when he'd finished, as if the last bit of terror had come out with the words.

"I'm proud of you, Henry," said his grandpa.

"Huh?" asked Henry. "I just used the necklace. Nothing special." He stared at the floor.

The prince lifted his chin. "No way, kid. It's more than that. You were brave. I'm _proud _of you. Don't forget it."

"Ok," said Henry, unable to stop the grin that insisted on spreading across his face or the blush he could feel in his cheeks.

Regina had never been proud of him. She'd always wanted more—better grades, more affection, perfect behavior. This was new, and he wasn't sure he deserved it, but it felt really good.


	18. Turns

David watched his grandson carefully, wondering if the little boy was really as confident and unafraid as he seemed. Rumplestiltskin wasn't exactly at the top of his list of people to trust, but the man had been right, or so it appeared. The child's ability to navigate the nightmare had erased his fear.

The nightmare itself seemed to be more than the random neural firings of a little boy. He would give his thoughts to the specifics of it later, but for the moment, his attention belonged to Henry. Truth was, when the child had first called him "Grandpa," he hadn't been too sure what to make of it. He'd always liked Regina's little boy, as they'd all thought of him, but the step from that to thinking of him as his grandson had been gigantic. He'd agreed to take care of him out of desperation at first, but necessity had soon turned into something else.

David had started to understand why new parents could stand at their babies' cribs and just stare for hours. He'd begun to see how people's lives got wrapped up in their children, and they didn't even mind. He loved Storybrooke, but he loved Henry so much more that it staggered him. He hadn't known he even had that much love in him.

Henry walked over to the sink and washed out his cup, putting it on the counter to dry in the careful way he did everything. "I'm ready to go back to bed," he said, coming over to stand in front of David.

The prince was gratified to realize that his grandson was waiting for the hug he could always count on his grandfather giving him, but before he put his arms around him, he locked eyes with the kid. "Henry, you know I would do it for you if I could."

"I know," said Henry, "but you've done everything for me. It's my turn to do something."

David wanted to say _but you're a kid. You're too young to be so brave and do so much_, but he remembered what it had been like to be a little boy, all the hunger he'd felt to be a hero and earn his father's respect, so he didn't.

"No more sneaking coffee then?" he said instead, smiling.

Henry shook his head. "Nope. I like hot chocolate better anyway." David hugged him and sent him back to bed with a promise to check on him later, as he always did.

Ten minutes later, he stared down at his sleeping grandson. The boy looked peaceful, no longer dreaming of the fire or the woman, and he was glad. He, too, needed to sleep, but he wasn't sure he would be able to with all of his thoughts of Ruby and Henry's nightmare and the madman's burned hat running through his mind. Still, even if he couldn't lead Storybrooke perfectly, he could take comfort in the sound of Henry's measured breathing and smile at the way his hair fell over his forehead while he slept. Prince Charming sat down beside the little boy's bed once again. He didn't want to get up.


	19. Sacrifice

Henry stared at the end of the spindle, mesmerized by the sharp, gleaming tip.

In the past, his idea of heroism had been found on the battlefield, at the end of a sword, with the scent of sweat and blood in the nostrils. He'd always thought heroes were made by grand quests that got everyone's attention and changed entire lands.

His own courage had been born of necessity, forced on him by his experience of the sleeping curse. He'd had to be braver than he'd ever been before, but he'd hardly had a choice.

As he looked from the metal tip to the face of his grandfather, he finally understood the truth. Being a hero meant being one when no one might ever see what you'd done and the outcome was far from assured. It meant being willing to give up all sense of certainty for a dream of rescuing another. It meant having a choice and making the right one, even when there was nothing glamorous about it.

Sometimes, being a hero didn't mean fighting for your rights. Sometimes it meant dying, sleeping, letting go of power, so that someone else might live again.

Henry wrapped his arms around his grandfather, and he realized something that would change his life forever: The real definition of heroism was sacrifice, and sacrifice took the most courage of all.


	20. Example

_Am I doing the right thing?_

Charming didn't hesitate on account of fear. He was afraid, but he'd been afraid plenty of times before, and he'd learned to use the emotion to make him stronger, more alert, more careful.

It wasn't lack of resolve. Come what may, he knew the best chance was what he was about to do. He was sure.

It wasn't concern for Storybrooke. As Rumpletstiltskin had asserted repeatedly, things would be much worse if no one acted.

No, the whole reason for Prince Charming's hesitation was the grandson he held in his arms. He wasn't stupid; he knew the probability that he would never awaken, and if he did not, Henry would once again be at the mercy of Regina. That thought made him quake in his boots, more than the threat of any injury or pain to himself.

At that moment, his grandson looked up at him, and what Charming saw sealed the deal forever. Henry had always liked him, even before Regina's curse had been broken, but Charming had never seen the respect in his eyes that he saw now.

Henry wasn't the reason he had to stay; Henry was the reason he had to go. His grandson had read plenty of stories about battles and quests, but it was time for him to see what it really meant to be a hero.

Charming squared his shoulders and smiled. He was ready.


	21. Imperfect

If anyone had asked Henry before, he'd have said his grandfather, the prince, was perfect. Perfectly kind, perfectly wise, perfectly courageous. The perfect dad—granddad, since he was pretty much both. Nothing had changed about that, but Henry had started to understand something about adults: They didn't always practice what they preached, even the nice ones.

See, the one time Henry had gotten into a fight in school, his grandfather had reminded him that words are just words and that forgiveness is even more powerful than magic. He'd taken that to heart. That's why he'd asked his mom if Regina could come to his grandmother's party.

_Forgiveness is more powerful than magic_. He'd said those words over and over to himself until he believed them, until he was ready to love Regina again—a little, at least. He'd thought his grandfather would be proud.

The funny thing was, well, he wasn't proud. He was upset and a little angry. Henry knew the anger wasn't directed at him, but he still didn't understand. All through the evening, he talked to Regina like old times, trying to make her feel wanted, but no one else joined him.

At first, Henry wondered if he was wrong to be forgiving, but when he thought back to all the things his grandparents had ever said to him, he knew he was doing the right thing. That meant—well, it meant that the prince must be wrong.

Henry lay in bed that night, and the image of his grandfather in his head wasn't perfect any more. Pretty close, but not quite. The kid didn't mind. After all, he wasn't perfect, and it was kind of nice to know that the best person he knew in the whole world wasn't perfect either.


	22. Forgiving

Snow's return had David Nolan feeling more like Prince James than ever. He walked differently; he spoke differently; he could even see in the mirror that he wore a different look in his eyes. For the first time in ages, he was happy, and he knew exactly who he was.

Of course, that self-assurance brought with it his old vices, too. Prince James had a temper. He could be gentle, but he could also be tough, and plenty of situations in the Enchanted Forest had forced him to bring that hardness to the surface.

Mary Margaret's party wasn't that kind of situation—until Regina walked in. As soon as he saw her face, he felt the old anger rising to the surface of his consciousness, threatening to choke his good humor and change the color of the evening entirely. It was only by supreme effort that he kept from doing something he'd have regretted for a long time.

He was unutterably glad he'd exerted that effort when he looked over and saw his grandson interacting with the wicked queen. The little boy smiled, laughed, even held her hand. He treated her like she was a valuable person.

That threw the prince for a loop. If anyone had cause to hate Regina, it was Henry. She might not have physically abused him, but she had certainly terrorized his childhood and given him more bad memories than anyone deserves to have in a lifetime. Everyone in Storybrooke knew what she could do, but Henry was the only one who'd been raised as her son.

Feeling like David Nolan again, the prince blinked back tears. He didn't want to forgive Regina, and he didn't want to give her another chance. But if Henry could do it, then surely he could start trying.


End file.
